


Pity the Thought Of Pollution

by Warbles



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Both ships get attention, Charater Study, Enviormentalism, F/F, M/M, Newt and Anathema broke up but are friends, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 02:40:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warbles/pseuds/Warbles
Summary: “We are not so dead as you might think.”Crowley was only trying to cook dinner for his angel when a friend called, full of anxiety. To be fair, he didn’t actually expect her to go through with all this; after all, everyone knows his advice is rubbish.But perhaps Anathema had never got the message, because here she was inviting into her life the Horseman she hated the most: Pollution.Oh, Aziraphale was going to have words with all of them.





	Pity the Thought Of Pollution

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a little project to work on in between my mp100 fic but then I got really into it bc I’m gay and hyperfocused on Good Omens rn. I haven’t abandoned the others, I’m just giving this one attention today :P

“So we really only got twelve years left?” Adam asked, looking up towards Anathema with a glint of something betrayed in his eyes. 

 

Anathema felt guilt seep deep into her stomach, and infect her whole being. Sure, she was not personally responsible for poisoning the planet– upwards of ninety percent of that sin rested upon the heads on about a hundred CEOs with names and addresses– but she hated herself for the hurt she had caused Adam for revealing these facts. The thought of confirming his fears sat heavy in her chest as she struggled to find the right words to comfort him. 

 

“Anathema?”

 

She could see the hint of desperation in his face grow as her damning silence stretched on until Pepper took pity on her, and at last broke it. 

 

“Unfortunately,” she started, “Anathema is right. Our parents, and their parents, and their parents before them have made an utter  _ mess _ of our environmental future,” Pepper said with a sniff. “Late stage capitalism truly is a  _ terribly _ selfish thing.”

 

“Wait,” Brain said, confused. “I thought we all just stopped the end of the world a few months ago. Now you’re telling me it’s all just gonna happen all over again in twelve years?”

 

“Well–” Anathema started, but Pepper cut her off. 

 

“Oh Brian,  _ really _ . It’s not the  _ End-Of-The-World _ kind of end-of-the-world; think wildfire and floods instead of hellfire and brimstone.” Brian looked even more confused. Pepper rolled her eyes, and continued. “What Anathema was saying is that we as the human race have twelve years to take action before we catastrophically damage our environment even more than we already have, and make it impossible for large segments of the population to live. She was not saying that Satan was going to walk the earth again.”

 

“Oh,” said Brian. 

 

“Oh indeed,” said Pepper. 

 

“Well this is still just terrible!” Wendsleydale exclaimed. “We have to do something!” The boy turned to Adam, his eyes wide behind his glasses. “What do we do?” 

 

Adam bit his lip, and stared down at his hands folded across his lap. His friends continued pestering each other. 

 

Anathema looked down at the squabbling group of tweens that made up the Them who had taken up residence on her living room carpet. They had started to visit her and Newt regularly since the Apocodidn’t, and she had at first been more than happy to entertain them with family stories and articles from her occult and environmental magazines. However, today’s article on the fierce urgency of now had really unsettled the group in a way she hadn’t seen in quite a while. 

 

She was sorry to do it, but the children did have a right to understand what was going on in the world. This was  _ their _ future that politicians and oil executives were playing with, after all. She fiddled with the bottom of the magazine page she had been reading to them from her place at the armchair. 

 

Dog barked, bringing her back into the moment. She blinked, and reassessed the room. 

 

“So wait, why won’t you miracle it all away then, Adam? You haven’t lost your powers, right?” Brian asked. 

 

“Yeah!” the others answered in a chorus of agreement. Adam grimenced, and then sighed. 

 

“It’s not that simple,” he said. “I have to be careful! Aziraphale and Crowley have been teaching me about the importance of ‘subtlety’ and ‘balance’ when it comes to using my powers. ‘M not supposed to make big changes that’ll throw everything out of whack– they want me to stick to little things for now until I get a bit older, get a bit more experience.”

 

“Why do you need more experience?” Brain said more than asked, his distaste open. “You already stopped the bloody devil!”

 

“Language, Brain,” Anathema cut in. 

 

“Sorry, Ms. Anathema,” he said before turning back to Adam. “But really,” he said with pursed lips, “What more experience do you need?”

 

Adam shrugged. “ I dunno, but I think I’ll listen to the two of ‘em for now. I just started to realize what a big deal my powers are, and I just… I dunno. I mean, ‘m real smart, but I’m still just eleven. I have a lot to learn.”

 

“That’s very mature of you, Adam,” Pepper said. He smiled bashfully. “But that means we need to think of another plan quick to save the planet, because we do really only have twelve years to figure this out.”

 

Before the conversation could spiral further, Adam’s phone buzzed. After glancing at the text message, he stood up, bouncing on his heels. “Well, whatever planning we have is going to have to wait until after lunch, because mum just finished the Shepard’s pie.” 

 

The melancholy immediately dispersed. Anathema pressed herself against the back of her chair to avoid being jostled by the Them as they made their noisy escape to lunch, calling out goodbyes as they ran. 

 

“Right!” she hollered after them. “Goodbye!”

 

She got no response. Anathema slid back down into her chair until she was almost sitting properly, and looked out the window. It was a beautiful afternoon, really. A beautiful place to live, Tadfield. A beautiful planet. 

 

Anathema looked back into her living room, and the disarray the Them left. With Newt at work and her house now empty, Anathema suddenly felt very small, and very alone. 

 

***

“Funny reason to call,  _ environmental anxiety _ – never even heard of that one, really,” Crowley said into the phone. He had it cradled awkwardly between his ear and shoulder blade, his hands far too busy with his mixing bowl to bother with the ancient home phone. He only kept it around because Aziraphale found it, quote, ‘positively charming!” 

 

He supposed the answering phone feature wasn’t too bad either, but that was neither here nor there. What was  _ here _ and very much not  _ there _ was the annoying cord that had managed to wrap itself around Crowley’s arm. “Shit,” he mumbled into the phone, trying to untangle himself without the use of his hands. 

 

The fact that he could miracle this problem away did not occur to him. It rarely did. “Mother of– fuck,” he hissed. 

 

“Crowley?” Anathema said through the line. “Uh, Crowley, what are you–?”

 

“It’s fine! Everything’s  _ fine _ ,” he spat, now trying to kick at the wire while he stood on one foot, and continued to angering whip whatever was in his bowl. “Just having some– just having some, some  _ connection issues _ , that’s all.”

 

Crowley felt Anathema’s resulting silence to be very judgmental. “Oh, lay off!” he grumbled. Amathem just “hmphed” in response. 

 

Crowley gave up with the phone cord, deciding he’d just have to spend the rest of his life like this, or at least until he was done with his homemade whipped cream. “Just tell me what you wanted to tell me, yeah?”

 

“I was  _ trying _ ,” Anathema said hauntingly, “but  _ somebody  _ kept interrupting.”

 

Crowley stuck his tongue out at her. He knew she couldn’t see it, but he also knew  _ she _ knew what he was up too. He could feel her eye roll. “Well do get on with it then, little witch.”

 

This time Anathema really did roll her eyes. She had tried to come up with a tactful way to introduce the conversation, but she figured this was as good as she was going to get. “Fine,” she said. “Are you and Aziraphale really training Adam on how to use his powers?”

 

“Er,” Crowley said, distracted by his cooking again, “Sorta? It’s more of a–  _ shit, no, please don’t spill–  _ uh, more of a, fuck, mortal sort of deal. Moral. Whatever.”

 

“Well what does that mean?” Anathema said, making a face on the other side of the phone.

 

“ _ Well _ ,” Crowley began, “It means the angel and I visit every two to four weeks, check up on the little bugger, take him to lunch, and hang out with him and his little hellhound while sharing some of our wisdom about being a supernatural entity among humans.” Crowley paused, thinking. “Or at least, we try. A lot of the time Adam ends up just getting us to play a game with him, now that I think about it. Damned– blessed smart kid, that one.”

 

“And you didn’t think to visit the rest of us while you were in town all those times?” Anathema said, affronted. 

 

“We did a few times!” Crowley defended himself. “It’s just, sometimes things get. Well. They get busy, and then I need to get home in time for my scheduled plant berating, and ‘Zira for his nightly coco.”

 

“Uh huh,” Anathema said. “Sure. Whatever. Anyway, I guess some of whatever you’re doing is sinking in, because Adam brought up something about your training today.”

 

“Oh, did he?” Crowley asked, genuinely interested. He looked down at his mixing bowl, pleased at his whipping skills. The head torturers of hell would be jealous of his handiwork, although he used a whisk instead of, well, a whip. 

 

“Yeah,” Anathema replied. “We were talking about climate change today, and how we have twelve years left before things  _ really _ start to go downhill– not that people aren’t already dying from an uptick in tropical storms, heatstroke, disease, and flooding– but y’know, it’ll get even worse then.”

 

“Right,” said Crowley, reaching for his container of chai powder. He really didn’t want to think about this tonight. “God, you humans stress me out so much. Just saved the world, and now you’re off destroying it again!”

 

“I  _ know _ !” Anathema moaned, “Believe me, I know. Newt doesn’t even want to hear me talk about it anymore; he says it makes him too depressed.”

 

“You’re making  _ me  _ feel depressed, and my boss is literally Satan.”

 

“Not anymore though.”

 

Crowley smiled as he mixed the powder into his whipped cream. “No, I suppose he isn’t anymore, is he?”

 

“Quite. Anyway, we were talking about all that, and it really upset the children.” 

 

“As it should,” Crowley said, whipping the mixture slower. 

 

“Yes, as it should,” Anathema agreed. “They decided they wanted to do something, and asked Adam to fix the planet for them. He said no.”

 

“Good,” Crowley said, standing back. His whipped cream looked perfect. As soon as the last few waffles were ready, breakfast for dinner would be served. “I’m glad he’s learning.”

 

“What’s he learning?”

 

“That some of the mistakes humans make, they have to unmake as well. That was one of the hardest parts of being a wily snake and a principality– sometimes we just had to stand back and watch you screw yourselves over, again and again.” 

 

Crowley’s voice was a little strained towards the end. Anathema wondered if he was thinking about anything specific. “Why’s that?” she asked softly. “Why not stop evil if you could, or stop good?”

 

“There’s a balance to everything, dear,” Aziraphale said, plucking the phone from his boyfriend. Crowley gave him a sheepish smile as the angel untwisted him from the cord. 

 

Tilting the phone away from himself, Aziraphale grinned. “My dear, how did you ever get yourself so tangled up?” Crowley laughed, sheepish. 

 

“I was very focused on getting the whipped cream right. I stole the recipe of some mummy-blogger’s website; I thought the chai powder sounded like the kind of nice, pretentious touch you’d enjoy,” Crowley said with a grin. 

 

“My dear!” Aziraphale laughed, and lightly smacked his partner’s shoulder. “Really, you are too much sometimes.”

 

Crowley snorted, clearly not believing the angel at all. “You love me,” he teased, affectionately bumping into Aziraphale, who smiled in turn. 

 

“I do,” he said with a light kiss to the forehead. Crowley practically purred. 

 

Anathema coughed awkwardly through the speaker. “Um, should I call back later?”

 

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed. He’d forgotten the phone was still on, let alone in his hand. “Quite sorry about that, dear. Got a bit distracted there.” Crowley laugh softly at Aziraphale’s pink cheeks and guilt before squeezing his shoulder, and returning to the counter. He figured he might as well finish making dinner and set the table while Aziraphale was busy. 

 

“Anyway,” the angel continued, redirecting his attention to Anathema, “It’s no good for us to be obvious about our involvement, and any miracles too big could hurt the general public’s faith and ability to enact free will. While we can help mediate some of the consequences of free will, anything too big and we’d be impeding progress! We can’t very well act as all of humanity’s helicopter parents, now can we? How would you ever learn?”

 

“I’m starting to think we never will,” Anathema said glumly.

 

“Oh, please don’t be like that,” Aziraphale said sadly. “The arc of time is long, but it bends towards justice. I would know.”

 

“That’s not enough for now though, is it? We need real change, and now,” Anathema protested. “Adam could do that. I’m not saying I think he  _ should _ – I’m still figuring that out right now, if that’s how we should go about things– but he could change everything, if he wanted.”

 

“He could,” Aziraphale agreed, “but he won’t, nor should he. It would endanger us all, to meddle like that.”

 

“But you stopped an entire apocalypse!” Anathema protested. “How is that in line with your whole ‘don’t get too involved’ schtick?!”

 

Aziraphale sighed, and shifted his grip on the phone, twirling his finger around the cord. “At the end of the day,” he said, “Crowley and I didn’t really do all that much. It was all you brilliant little humans, with all your love, and friendship, and anger coming together to defend your planet.” He smiled. “We thought it was up to us to play the role of heroes, but in the end, most of what we did didn’t actually matter in the grand scheme of things.”

 

“But it was good,” he continued. “It was good that it was your lot who saved the earth. I think we were just meant to witness you, and help a little where we could.” Almost shyly, he added, “I’m glad it worked out that way, and we met all of you. You’re truly a spectacular group of humans.”

 

_ Ah, _ Anathema thought.  _ He’s soft _ . Sometimes she forgot how positively sweet this ancient man-shaped creature could be. 

 

“Anathema?” he called, after she had been quiet for a bit too long. “I do hope you’re feeling a bit better now, dear.”

 

“A little, yeah,” she admitted. “It’s still difficult though, all of  _ this _ ,” she said, making a vague gesture to the world around her she forgot Aziraphale couldn’t see. “Like Adam stopped the Apocalypse by yelling at the devil, and then everything went back to normal. All our problems are still here. Nothing really got better after defeating him; we just went back to the status quo.”

 

“Then change the status quo!” Crowley snipped, nabbing the phone from his angel. Aziraphale raised his hands, and took a step back. “That’s what we did, and we aren’t exactly the most creative of beings. Humans change things all the time! You don’t have to stay stagnant.” Crowley turned back to Aziraphale, who was only mildly irked at his rudeness. He mouthed at him to meet him in the dining room. “I won’t be long,” Crowley told him softly. He nodded. 

 

“I  _ want _ change;I just haven’t figured out how to make it happen yet! This is something large scale!” Anathema snapped back. 

 

“Oh come on now, use your witchy little brain and think a bit harder. You’ll come up with something.”

 

“One person can’t change the entire planet, Crowley,” she said through gritted teeth. “Not unless that person’s name is Adam Young.”

 

“Hmm. Shame then, that is,” he hummed. 

 

Anathema sighed, slouching against her wall. Newt still wasn’t back yet with dinner, and the day was really starting to wear down on her. “I don’t know. Everything just feels so big and underwhelming at the same time.”

 

“I know,” Crowley soothed. 

 

“I mean, we killed the Four Horsemen with a flaming sword! How did that not do anything?”

 

“Oh, don’t be thick love,” Crowley said dismissively. “You can’t really kill creatures like that– they’ll all be back eventually; I’m sure of it.”

 

Anathema threw the hand not currently occupied by her cellphone into the air. “Well that’s just great! So now we have the threat of environmental disaster, and a supernatural one!”

 

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Mostly they stay out of the way like us, although they  _ had _ started to get more ambitious in the past couple decades,” Crowley pondered, pensive. 

 

“Jesus Christ.”

 

“Not really, no. Anyway, Aziraphale has got to be getting impatient by now.” Crowley softened. “Look, I’m not going to tell you it’s all going to be okay, because I can’t know that. But I’ve seen humans pull themselves out of plenty of jams before, and I have faith that you’ll muddle your way out of this one too.”

 

“But what if the price is too high, to muddle about? What if we could do it better, or faster, right now with a little help?”

 

Crowley shrugged. “Not my department. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m having fancy waffles for dinner with my– well, with my angel.”

 

“Goodnight,” Anathema said, voice low. “And Crowley?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Thanks for talking with me, and uh, thanks for listening to me.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, brushing it off. “We’ll come find you next time we’re in town.”

 

Anathema smiled. “I’d like that.” It looked like Crowley was a bit soft too. 

 

***

Later that night, Anathema still couldn’t sleep. She crept out of her room to sit in the back garden, staring up at the stars. She remembered how her mother used grace her fingers down Anathema’s back as they starwatched, and how safe and loved that made her feel as a child. She tried to hold on to that feel. 

 

You couldn’t see stars like this in Malibu. They always had to leave town whenever they  _ really  _ wanted to see the stars. Silver and shining, unobscured by light pollution– the view was almost enough to make her tear up. Back in the present, Anathema dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve, and went back inside. The sky right now was too much to bare, and she missed her mother. 

 

Nearly half the planet away, a chalky-white haired creature laid with their back against the bits of rock and glass at the bottom of a shallow stream full of sludge. A mail truck stopped at the bridge besides them, and a man stepped out. 

 

“Oh,” they said, their voice raspy. “It’s you again.”

 

“Correct you are, sir!” the mail man said, far too chirpy for Pollution’s liking. He walked over to their bed of thick, brackish water, and presented an envelope from his bag. “Got a letter for you this time.”

 

They hummed, their curiosity mildly peaked. They rose slowly, achingly slowly from the creekbed, and reached out a dripping hand. 

 

“Here,” said the man. “Use my handkerchief first.” They did. 

 

The mail man didn’t wait for Pollution to open the letter, nor did he ask what it was. He didn’t ask for the handkerchief back. Instead, he raised a hand in goodbye, and made his way back to his car and down the winding road. 

 

Pollution watched him go before carefully opening their letter, and letting the envelope filter carelessly to the ground. They read it quickly. 

 

“Ah. Seems I’m traveling to Tadfield again,” they said, and so they began their journey anew. 


End file.
